Chapter Text
39 BBY (3938 CRC)
Jedi Temple, Senate District, Galactic City, Coruscant
The Temple was abuzz with its daily goings-on: Initiates were romping about with their creche clans and learned how to play games like push-feather, many Padawans were just barely finishing the end of their exams season, various Knights flitted from place to place, completing and beginning missions and assignments, and the High Jedi Council had just sat down to begin another meeting.
“The Chancellor asked for what?” Yaddle asked, absolutely shocked by the request. She knew that the Chancellor would take every chance to lobby them for pointless tasks when trying to appeal to his supporters, but really?
Adi Gallia looked sickened by the news. “This is the boots all over again!” She exclaimed, covering her face with her hands dejectedly.
They had all heard Adi Gallia’s thoughts about the boots. One year prior, the Chancellor had brought them a few boxes of the most atrocious-looking boots after promising his supporters from the planet that produced them that he would try to get the Jedi to wear some. It was one of the most insufferable things that they had been subjected to in recent years—constant wasting of their time when they should be discussing more important issues.
Still, they couldn’t exactly turn down meetings with the Chancellor and his various advisors—the most common being Senator Palpatine of Naboo—especially when he controlled the Jedi’s budget. It felt like it got tighter and tighter every year already, causing constant restructuring of the Jedi Outpost System.
This time, Chancellor Valorum had bothered them with a “gift” of robes.
Oh, and not just any robes, either.
“Why are they… glittery?” Ki-Adi-Mundi asked, staring at the affront to his senses with a vaguely disgusted expression. His eyes looked a bit vacant, subjected to the monstrosity that Yarael Poof was holding up.
“I don’t know,” the man replied teasingly, “I think the Initiates might like them. They’ll be awful to clean, of course, but we’re certainly not going to wear them.” There was a familiar spark of amusement in the man’s eye. He found this funny.
Saesee Tiin glowered. “Seriously? Is this what we’re spending our time discussing? We haven’t been able to meet altogether in six weeks. It’s almost been a month. You already know what we think of those, Master Poof.”
“Oh, do I?” The Quermian joked. “Why, I hadn’t thought I’d asked you already, Master Tiin. And please, do call me Yarael.” Saesee Tiin knew that Yarael hated when people called him Master Poof. In standard Basic, it sounded like his name was the end of a magic trick!
Saesee chuckled a bit at the man’s reaction, but the conversation went on around them.
“Agree with Yarael, I do,” Yoda announced. “Give them to the younglings, we should.”
As she hid a giggle behind her hand, Depa caught sight of her old Master, Mace Windu. The man was massaging his temples, looking just about done with the conversation. She knew that he usually wouldn’t care so much about a bit of lighthearted fun—so long as it didn’t really disrupt the agenda—and so assumed that he must still be fighting off a headache.
It was concerning. Her Master had been experiencing worse-than-usual headaches for over a week now, even getting so bad that he actually went to the Halls of Healing multiple times. Long experienced with this kind of pain, Master of the Order Mace Windu knew how to handle what had become a kind of chronic pain for him, resulting from his years of dealing with heavy and powerful shatterpoints.
And so despite the current affable mood in the Council Chambers, Depa felt a pit of dread open up in her stomach. Something was coming—something big, she just knew it. She just didn’t know if she would be ready when it arrived.
Finally, Mace sighed and addressed the still-chatting group, “Alright, Yarael, feel free to bring them down to the crechemasters to ask if they’d like them. If not, I’m sure that we can find some other… use for them,” he said this with a faint look of disgust on his face, “or find an appropriate recipient of a charitable gift.”
Laughs rang in the Council Chambers, though the Masters recognized the mood calming as they prepared themselves for the next item on the agenda.
Nodding to Adi Gallia, who kept the agenda for meetings such as these, Mace focused himself beyond his pain and focused on the present. He would persevere.
/
Across the Temple, in the Padawan Dining Hall, sat many of the previous members of Kybuck Clan, consisting of Padawans Obi-Wan Kenobi, Garen Muln, Reeft Kyba, Jape Astara, Prie Nimali, Bolla Ropal, and Siri Tachi, as well as Obi-Wan’s good friend, Quinlan Vos.
“Hey, what clan were you in, anyway, Quinlan?” Bolla asked, leaning forward in his chair. This was the first time all of them have been able to meet up all together in three years—and it was a complete accident. Siri, Prie, Jape, and Bolla had been walking to the Padawan Dining Hall together when they passed by Garen and Reeft, who were going to meet with Bant in the Halls of Healing. When they ran into each other, they decided to stop and chat for a while.
They had already been catching up in the hallway for nearly half an hour when Obi-Wan and Quinlan happened upon them blocking the entrance way to the Dining Hall. With that, they had all sat down for a meal together, trying to make the most of what would doubtlessly be a short reunion.
“Ah, I was in Clan Kowak under Master Ni’bana,” Quinlan explained, glad to finally be eating after the three hour long conference he and Obi-Wan had just attended with their Masters.
“Oh!” Prie exclaimed. “I’ve heard Master Ni’bana is amazing! I’ve worked with Padawan Ko-rana a few times before on projects in our astronav class.” Ko-rana was Master Ni’bana’s current Padawan and was currently on the track to become a crechemaster after completing her Knight Trials in a few years. She and Prie got along very well, especially since they both spent time working on weaponless combat with their Masters. They would sometimes meet up to spar and teach each other new tricks they had learned in the time they had been apart.
“Oh, yeah, Ko-rana is great. I don’t think I would’ve passed my cultural class last semester without her help.” He joked, only to see Obi-Wan side-eye him dubiously. “What? She just helped me study!” Quinlan leaned in closer, speaking lower, “Well, maybe a little more than study-”
Obi-Wan pushed the other man away from him, rolling his eyes. “Not everything has to be about that, Quin. I was more thinking about how she probably had to carry you through that entire class. You come to me, someone two years younger than you, for help often enough that I fear for your study partners.”
“Obi-Wan!” Quinlan complained, pouting and stretching out the other’s name. “That’s not fair, I do great in astronav! Cultural classes just have it out for me!”
The others around them laughed at the rare moment of Obi-Wan causing chaos as he tried to bat Quinlan away. He had grown up a lot in the last few years, and for quite some time he had tried so hard to be perfect that he hardly had any fun.
“Hey Quinlan, who’s your Master?” Reeft asked once the two boys settled down at the table again, calming under the glare of one of the Masters working in the kitchen.
“Oh, I’m under Tholme!” The Kiffar boy replied, smirking just a bit. Obi-Wan jabbed him in the side before grabbing his cutlery and pretending to be calmly eating when the strict Master in the kitchen poked their head out again to see who was causing chaos this time. Quinlan sulked, baring his teeth at the other, while Obi-Wan had to resist laughing at him.
“No way, really? The Tholme, Master Shadow?” Jape asked, excited by this turn of events. Many Jedi never even met a Jedi Shadow, as mysterious as they had to be to do their jobs. Tholme was the head of the Council of Shadows, and, as such, was the only one supposed to be public knowledge. Of course, people can always tell friends and new coworkers that they’re a Shadow, or that they’re working to become one, but nothing gets published on the Holonet or sent through to the Jedi Oversight Committee of the Senate due to an old bill that was passed a few thousand years ago. The most public information available about them were highly-redacted directory updates, which usually showed information about birthdates, when people were taken on as Padawans and who they were taught by, when they took their Knight trials and when they had their Knighting ceremonies, things like that. Even those tended to be quite redacted for the average Shadow.
“Don’t let it fool you, Jape: nobody else could handle Quinlan, he’s such a mess.” Obi-Wan snarked, which caused Quinlan to glower at the other.
“I am not.” Quinlan replied, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms in front of his chest. A few of the others make speculative sounds, which made him puff up in false-indignity.
“I dunno, Quin, you sure do end up in the Halls a lot,” A newcomer—Bant Eerin—said as she approached the table and plopped down into a seat.
“That’s not my fault, Bantling, you know this!” The boy protested, but Bant only shook her head in amusement.
“I still remember that time Master Tholme chewed you out after that excursion in Corellia…” She trailed off, laughing when Quinlan nevertheless still feigned offense.
“Hey, that’s taken out of context!” Quinlan protested.
“What is the context, then, Quinlan Vos?” The Mon Calamari girl asked in reply, pursing her lips in a facial expression mirroring a human’s raised eyebrow. A few of the others in the group chimed in as well, eager to hear a new story—they had told each other most of their old ones by now, anyway.
“Oh, are we talking about his Corellia mission of ‘935 CRC?” Obi-Wan asked teasingly. “I can tell you all about that! You see, it started when Master Tholme-”
Quinlan cut the other boy off by jumping onto him, covering his mouth with his hand. They began grappling at each other, trying to come out on top.
“Master Tholme said Quinlan-”
“Qui-Gon said that, on Cantonica-”
The table once again erupted in laughter, and this time, with the Padawan Dining Hall basically empty after the last rush cleared out a few minutes ago, the Masters didn’t come out to scold them. Teasing each other gently, the Padawans pestered each other for the aforementioned stories, only to be amused when Quinlan and Obi-Wan suddenly froze up and refused to tell them the stories, faces pink at the misadventures the other could tell about them if they chose to.
Bolla took this opportunity to tell Quinlan about his greatest pranks against Obi-Wan, all immortalized onto a ranked list kept on his holocomm.
Needless to say, Obi-Wan was not going to live down the demon squid-soup incident.
/
And finally, in a small Master-and-Padawan double apartment across the Temple, Count Dooku was in a fierce argument with Lene Kostana and Sifo-Dyas.
“I’m telling you, Lene, there is no more waiting! The Senate is weak and corrupt—there’s no more going back from this! The Jedi are rendered powerless in the face of a corrupt Senate! We must think of the future-” Dooku spoke, voice raising in octave as he went along. He was getting fired up on the topic. It was his life’s work.
Some of the only work he had left now that he had left the Jedi, besides the paperwork his sister handed him to sign. He was a leader, yes, but he had bent himself around until he played the role of politician seamlessly, despite the fact that he had no formal training in it.
His frustrations with the Senate are much older than his time as a count, however.
“We are thinking about the future!” Lene replied, scathing and shrill. She was an old woman now, already 196 years old. She had left behind her life of constant movement long ago, much to her chagrin, instead confined to the Temple due to her age, Council disapproval, and Sifo-Dyas’s need for her help.
She had been his Master, once upon a time. She had cared for him then and she will continue to care for him now, up until the day she dies.
“All we are thinking about is the future!” Still, her love for him didn’t stop it from being frustrating and even maddening at times. Sifo-Dyas’s constant visions had rapidly deteriorated his mental health and cognitive processes in the years since the battle on Serenno. For years now, she had calmed him during his episodes, reassuring him afterward, helping him differentiate between what was and wasn’t reality.
The Temple healers tried all they could, but ultimately, none of them have ever seen anything like it before. They keep trying, over and over again, new methods that they think will help him, but Lene couldn’t believe in their tests anymore. After so many, so many times waiting and hoping, praying, that the symptoms will be alleviated, that she could see her boy again without the painful shroud of confusion over his eyes. And so many times, her hopes were dashed, thrown to the floor and shattered like glass.
Some days were good, even some weeks or months were good. He had even been going on missions semi-regularly until a few years ago—though that was mainly because no one had ever truly told the Council how bad his symptoms had gotten until they found out the hard way, Sifo-Dyas being removed from the Council in disgrace after a very short period serving on it.
But these days… some days were living nightmares. Watching a loved one slip away before your own eyes was never easy, and even on the easy days, Lene watched, wondering if it would be the last time she ever sees her boy truly smile, or laugh, or joke about some inconsequential detail that he had gotten hung up about this time.
She was too old for this. She didn’t have much longer left in her. She had just turned 196 and she could probably remain by Sifo-Dyas’s side until she hit 205, but after that… she didn’t know what she could do anymore.
The visions had plagued him even before the Protobranch solar storm of ‘892 CRC that took so many innocent lives, innocent lives that he had watched extinguished first in his dreams and waking nightmares, and then in real life, where he could hear and touch and smell and feel everything as it occurred around him, no escape in sight.
He had scarcely recovered after Serenno, but had never really recovered after that stint of his on the Council.
Lene didn’t have hope that he ever would, anymore.
“The future-” Dooku begins, all fiery intent, blazing with righteous—and not-so-righteous—anger, only to be cut off by the voice of one of his oldest friends, a man he hadn’t truly spoken to in years.
“None of you know of the future!” Sifo-Dyas exclaimed. “All of you—all of everyone—they all assume they know what is coming, but they don’t! You don’t, Dooku! You don’t know what you did, don’t understand the implications of the choice you made all those years ago…” As Sifo-Dyas went on, the clarity in his words dwindled, the fire dying down to embers already. He was tired and confused, and already an old man himself. Visions of the future danced before his eyes even now, unceasing in their cruelty.
The other two could feel the Force building around them, becoming agitated and erratic. Sifo-Dyas’s calm broke just a little bit more.
“You don’t get it! Nobody gets it! You can’t see-”
The ground beneath them begins to shake, and all around the Temple, passers-by are disturbed by such an occurrence. In the Padawan Dining Hall, hot caf spills out of Jape’s traveling cup and burns his wrist. In the High Council Chambers, the cardboard box of ugly clothes begins to shake in place, eventually toppling over and spilling its contents all over the ground.
“Nobody sees!” Sifo-Dyas repeats, this time sounding as if he has come to a conclusion. “You don’t see! All I have to do-” he claps his hands together, “is make you see!”
Lene reaches her hand out to him, trying to reach him, but before she can do anything more, a bright white light crosses her vision and the vision of everyone else in the Temple.
The white fades to black and all at once, dozens of Jedi fall unconscious, their minds journeying into the light, not dead but not so connected with the physical any longer.
/
It was a constructed reality, one on a different plane of existence, or perhaps it was imagined, or any other number of things, the Jedi present could tell. At once they could sense each other’s presences, their confusion, their disconnection with their bodies and connection with the Force in a way none of them had felt in such a way before. At that moment, they were one—one with the Force, one with each other, one with anything and everything and nothing–
And then, a weight returns, their energy coalescing, swirling, condensing, and then–
Consciousness.
A wave of groans go about the group, all twenty-six Jedi (and one ex-Jedi) clutching at their heads. They were in a space both limitless and confined, both detailed and vague at the edges of their senses. They could feel their heads pounding from whatever it was they had just experienced, but so long as they didn’t look too hard at their surroundings, the pain was fading.
“Where are we?” Mace Windu asked, looking around at their surroundings, clutching at his head. The pain he had experienced the moment they came back into existence was staggering, worse than a combined month’s worth of shatterpoints.
All across the space, people stirred, coming back to themselves.
“Obi-Wan, is that you?” Qui-Gon Jinn asked from where he had appeared, in between the group of Masters and the group of Padawans. He caught sight of his old Master somewhere behind him, and thought for a moment that he might have even seen Rael, but he had more important things to focus on at that moment—the image of Obi-Wan, that, in contrast to that of everyone else, was not recovering.
No, Obi-Wan knelt on the ground, clutching at his head like it was truly pounding. Everyone else around him, though dazed, was seemingly less impacted, already beginning to recover their faculties.
Qui-Gon rushed to his Padawan’s side, stopping when he got close out of concern that he might hurt the boy.
“Obi-Wan, can you hear me?” He asked. Now that he was closer, he could see that the boy was shaking unlike anything Qui-Gon had ever seen before.
Behind him, a commotion sprung up, an old argument reignited between his old Master and Lene Kostana. Confused murmurs shot up between the Padawans, the Masters near them at a loss for their situation.
At the center of their vague circle stood Sifo-Dyas, unnoticed. Noise grew, and grew, and grew—and Sifo-Dyas knew that if something didn’t happen now, it never would.
It had to. He had to stop it.
“Master,” the boy on the ground croaked out, “what am I seeing? What’s happening?”
Obi-Wan’s eyes were closed.
And Sifo-Dyas knew.
He had done it. He had made them see. And now he just needed to show everyone—to prove to the Force that its gift wouldn’t be wasted this time.
“He sees,” Sifo-Dyas announces, unconscious of the baffled looks of those around him. “He sees the truth. He sees the future,” His eyes were wide, not entirely there. The Padawans nearest to him took a step back, startled by such a brazen look of insanity from a Jedi Master a few of them had even met before.
The High Council was similarly shocked. Never before had they seen Sifo-Dyas so out of it, so affected. For decades the man had assured the Council that his visions were manageable, and though he had always pressed for them to take his visions into account when making decisions, they had seen the results of that line of thinking on Protobranch, and even that was the best case scenario. They had thought his recent episode during his time on the Council had been exacerbated by stress, made worse through the workload they had given him. He had assured them that he was going to go to the Mind Healers to get help, but looking at him now, he seemed even worse than he was before.
“You will all see, soon,” Sifo-Dyas said, and around him a pressure grew, as if they were all rising in altitude, waiting for their ears to pop. A sense of anticipation grew with it, a heady, needy thing, panicked and afraid. It was as if a wind had sprung up all around them, a vortex picking up speed.
Obi-Wan gasped and Qui-Gon could tell that the pain was increasing as whatever Sifo-Dyas was doing grew.
“You’re hurting him!” He yelled over the sound of the wind.
“Stop this madness, Sifo-Dyas!” Dooku commanded, knowing just how much his old Padawan cared for the boy he was now teaching. He spoke of him often, and though he had never met the child before, he could tell, based on the description he had heard, that the boy at Qui-Gon’s feet now was Obi-Wan.
“It is not madness!” Sifo-Dyas countered. “It is knowledge! It is desolation and hope and pain and healing! It is the future! And I will prove it to you!”
He fought against the push of the winds, making his way to the boy, who sat shivering on the there-not-there floor of this constructed space. As he did so, those he passed by were pushed away, struggling to remain on their feet as this wind, this power they had never met before, pushed them back.
He was intent, with a determined look in his eye. It was clear he was going to do something to young Obi-Wan, though what nobody could predict. Still, as the many Jedi in the space attempted to call on the Force, they found themselves unable to. The only one who knew this power was Sifo-Dyas, and, struggling against it, Qui-Gon, who threw himself at the man just as his finger made contact with Obi-Wan’s forehead.
Qui-Gon never connected with the man. The wind immediately picked up, knocking over all of the people there. Some began to float, while others were flattened to an artificial ground. None of them could see, as their eyes shut against the onslaught of the wind. If any of them had been able to pry their eyes open, they would have seen everything and nothing, a room both as infinite and knowing as it was confined to their ideas.
Once more, the power that had seized them spat them out again, landing them in piles crumpled on the ground. They were situated in a long semi-circle now, front and center being the unconscious Sifo-Dyas and a newly-cognizant Obi-Wan, clutching at his head.
They sat up, only to be greeted with a sight in front of them like a large holoprojector that would be used in a movie theater or similar location.
Music blasts around them, gaining their attention.
A fighter jet crosses in front of the easily-identifiable planet of Coruscant, going down for landing.
Gasps erupt from around the room. Everyone was confused—was this some kind of video viewing? They could tell what the purpose was meant to be, thanks to Sifo-Dyas’s deranged monologue, but had no idea how it actually worked.
How were they here?
…And where is “here?”
The camera pans across the Coruscanti landscape, showing the Jedi Temple.
“This can’t be…” Dooku trails off, interrupted by a disembodied voice.
MACE: You refer to the prophecy of the one who will bring balance to the Force.
Yoda appears, followed first by an older Obi-Wan, now 25, and then by Qui-Gon. Focusing on Mace Windu, the man continues to speak.
“No way,” Bolla said from where he sat sprawled out on the not-floor. “Obi-Wan?”
“No…” Yoda said, softly, looking every bit his age suddenly. “Sifo-Dyas…”
“The future,” Dooku says, confirming their worst suspicions.
MACE: You believe it's this boy?
Qui-Gon’s mind was racing. He had helped his Padawan move to sit near him after the images had started, and now here he was, being told that he identified the Chosen One of prophecy?
It was too much. It couldn’t be true.
And yet the videos continued.
A young boy is shown piloting a speeder before the scene changes to the inside of a starship, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and the boy all present.
QUI-GON: Anakin Skywalker, meet Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Obi-Wan shakes the boy’s hand.
At this, Mace can feel the impressions of importance even from a time not his own, a remnant of a shatterpoint that both was to come and had already passed. Depa laid her hand on his shoulder, reassuring him. A few others of the Council noticed and noted his reaction to this moment as well.
Some of them wondered if they could stop these images from showing.
Wanting to control the future was a common vice, but much easier to let go of if you didn’t know what you would one day face down.
Many Jedi had fallen due to the seductive nature of prophecies.
Qui-Gon watches Anakin on Tatooine.
YODA: Clouded this boy's future is.
The scene changes to a private interaction on Coruscant between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon.
OBI-WAN: The boy is dangerous. They all sense it. Why can't you?
“What’s going on?” Obi-Wan asks, still dazed and shaken from before.
“I don’t know either, young one,” Qui-Gon replied, eyes transfixed on the screen. He felt shaken—though he himself understood the dangers of prophecies and visions more than most, he knew that some people were far from able to handle the difficulty it presented.
He looked at his old Master, now gone from the Order for multiple years. He remembers a time when his Master could think of nothing else but how he could manipulate the future based on the information the prophecies gave them.
He remembers how much it hurt the man, and how much his Master struggled later.
He had never told Obi-Wan of these things. He would have to change this. He had never introduced the boy to his old Master, partly because their paths didn’t often pass these days, but also…
Qui-Gon remembers many things that happened long ago, during his own Padawanship. He remembers how Dooku scared him as much as he comforted him. He remembers those missions, the ones where his Master gave in to darker impulses. When Qui-Gon felt something like Darkness creep into his Master, a Darkness that Rael had once told him was impossible.
Rael, Dooku’s Padawan before him, had seemed so perfect when he was just a boy. Qui-Gon didn’t know him then like he knew him now. He was just a child the first time it happened, only barely fourteen years old.
He had told him what had happened, and yet…
To Rael, it wasn’t a big deal, or perhaps just wasn’t a big deal because Qui-Gon didn’t explain the situation well enough, or tell the story quite right. Qui-Gon now suffers to think how much of the same behavior could have occurred if Dooku had truly been so blase with torture during Rael’s Padawanship that he would tell Qui-Gon’s younger self that Dooku was just worried about him.
Yes, Qui-Gon would have to speak with Obi-Wan. The boy doubtlessly already knew—he had lectured Qui-Gon on the dangers of prophecy himself once—but nevertheless, there was a… story there that he would have to pass on.
The Council Chambers are shown, all characters present.
YODA: An apprentice you have, Qui-Gon. Impossible to take on a second.
Obi-Wan’s eyes shoot open, his jaw dropping. He whips his head around to look at Qui-Gon, a bit scandalized. Qui-Gon could basically hear what the boy was thinking.
Qui-Gon stands behind Anakin, holding him by the shoulders, as Obi-Wan stands behind him.
QUI-GON: Obi-Wan is ready.
Obi-Wan steps up to beside his master.
OBI-WAN: I am ready to face the trials.
As the others around them gasped and hypothesized among themselves, Qui-Gon leaned down and spoke softly near Obi-Wan’s ear, knowing that the young man would not like such a personal conversation to be overheard.
“We decided two years ago that we would go on being Master and Padawan. We have grown together quite a bit since that time, yes, but the fact still stands: I would not put you up for the Trials unless I was completely sure you were ready. I am not sure what is happening in this possible future, but remember that.”
Obi-Wan nodded, calming himself. Qui-Gon noted a faint red on his cheeks, the boy likely feeling embarrassed at being read so easily by his Master. In many ways, the boy was already wiser than Qui-Gon, and yet in many, he was still just that: a boy, and one that Qui-Gon had already dedicated years of his life to teaching.
Qui-Gon cared about him deeply. He wondered what must have occurred for them to separate in such a seemingly abrupt way.
The scene changes again, this time to an unidentified industrial complex. A Zabrak man is shown igniting a red dual-sided lightsaber. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan engage him in combat.
Many of the Padawans present gasped, shocked at the bleeding-red blade. They had never seen such a thing in real life—and neither had any of the Masters. Even the most steady and composed of the High Council was shocked by such a sight.
An enemy they believed dead for hundreds of years, back once more.
The Sith.
QUI-GON: You've been a good apprentice, Obi-Wan.
After he says this on voiceover, Qui-Gon is stabbed in the stomach. Obi-Wan screams.
You could hear a pin drop with how silent it was between the spectators. It was so quiet that Qui-Gon heard Obi-Wan’s voice hitch, could hear his unsteady breathing. He reached out and grabbed the boy’s hand.
Obi-Wan squeezed.
Qui-Gon breathed in, and then out.
Focus on the here and now, Jinn, he ordered himself, just like you’ve taught your own apprentice to.
OBI-WAN: No!
Obi-Wan attacks the man viciously, striking a fatal blow. The darksider makes a face of realization.
Obi-Wan squeezes harder. He seemed to be at a loss for words.
Behind him, Adi Gallia gasps, covering her gaping mouth with her hand. She is not alone in this, for the entirety of the room is shocked. This night had been one blow after another—first they all learn they must be seeing the future, or at least a future, then they find out that the Sith, their most ancient enemy, still live, and then they see Qui-Gon Jinn, well-known and well-loved Jedi Master, be dealt a fatal blow.
Only after all of that do they see the great and painful accomplishment the Obi-Wan of the future had carried out.
The first Sith in a thousand years, to-be-killer of a great Master, thwarted by the man’s own Jedi Padawan.
QUI-GON: I foresee you will become a great Jedi Knight.
Obi-Wan is shown at the edge of a large hole, turning to run beside Qui-Gon. The viewers assume that the man fell down the hole.
Obi-Wan holds Qui-Gon’s head in his lap as the man struggles to stay alive.
“No…” Obi-Wan says, his eyes filling with tears. Qui-Gon squeezes the boy's hand himself, drawing his attention.
“If this future comes to pass, Obi-Wan, then the Force has decided to bring me home. You do not need to miss me,” even as he said this, tried to comfort this boy that had grown into a man with him, his own eyes began to fill with tears, “for I will always be with you. In the Force, even if not with you here. And though-” he breathes in and tries to calm himself, trying to retain some of the level-headedness he had nearly perfected over so many years of service to the Republic, “-though I do hope I will be there with you, when the day comes for you to become a Knight, I nevertheless have full confidence that you will, indeed, one day become the best of us all.”
Across the space, many others could see Qui-Gon reassuring the boy. Interestingly, it seemed as though the video paused when someone began to speak. Ki-Adi-Mundi noticed this with interest, though he knew better than to test such a suspicion now.
No, the two of them needed a moment to themselves, which was nigh-impossible in such an interesting (and unexplained) situation as the one they were currently in.
Instead, they’d have to be even more cognizant of each other’s emotions, considering the images they were seeing from this pseudo-projector now. There was no way to know what they would see next.
And, above it all, he truly did care for Obi-Wan. He saw in him the makings of a great Knight, and one day, Ki-Adi-Mundi believed, even a great Councilor.
And, though the man seemed to live for interruptions and unorthodox ideas, he did respect Qui-Gon as well. Though his methods occasionally toed the line of what was acceptable and not, the man truly did only seek to follow the will of the Force.
QUI-GON: Obi-Wan, promise me you will train the boy.
OBI-WAN: Yes, Master.
“No,” Obi-Wan said again, this time perhaps ignoring his grief for a moment to instead focus on another problem. “Really, Master?” The boy griped. “Even as you die, you saddle me with another one of your pathetic lifeforms?” It was partly true annoyance and partly played up for humor—Obi-Wan attempting to reassure Qui-Gon even now—but the joke didn’t land very well.
Neither of them decided to comment on it.
Obi-Wan tried to blink away the tears gathering in his eyes.
QUI-GON: He will bring balance.
Obi-Wan is shown speaking first to Yoda and then speaking to the child.
OBI-WAN: Master Yoda, I gave Qui-Gon my word.
YODA: Your apprentice Skywalker will be.
Midway through his words, Obi-Wan and Anakin are shown again, much older. Thirteen years have passed.
Gasps rang out among the spectators of the video.
“No way!” Bolla exclaimed, only to silence himself when he realized he had spoken aloud. He looked around, sheepish, hoping that he hadn’t offended or upset Obi-Wan when he spoke. He knew how much Qui-Gon meant to the other boy, how much closer they had been recently, after years of trying and failing to truly connect with one another.
When Bolla thought about it, it was kind of devastating to think of how those two, two Jedi so well-attuned to one another, so adjusted for the other’s sake, so cognizant of the other’s needs, that they would be the ones taken from each other so soon.
He breathed in, and then out. In his mind, he recalled their old crechemaster’s lesson on grief and death.
All things will one day die, she had told them. When this happens, they become one with the Force once more, leaving behind the restrictions of their physical body. The grief that people feel after death is real and painful, and so we should always comfort those experiencing it, and yet we also must remember that we have nothing to fear when the time comes. The Force, our mother, will welcome us with open arms.
Across the room, another person was struggling with grief. Count Dooku, though long gone from the Jedi Order, still held much love and attachment for his old Padawan. Remembering those early days together, when he was still so young and cute and bumbling, and the later days, when they worked together like a well-oiled machine, brought not melancholy nor acceptance to his heart, but rather rage.
Who dares to take him from me? He asked himself. My former Padawan deserves much better than a painful death, a death at the hands of a weapon that he had only ever known as a comfort and protection.
At that moment, Count Dooku vowed to himself that he would discover who had done such a thing and stop them, himself if he must.
Yoda bowed his head, accepting the loss but still feeling the pain. Though he and Qui-Gon have disagreed on matters frequently in the past, Qui-Gon was a good man and a good Jedi. The galaxy would be a bit darker without him there to guard the light.
Obi-Wan, only just slightly younger, is shown falling from a height on Coruscant, falling onto the back of a speeder piloted by the padawan.
OBI-WAN: What took you so long?
Obi-Wan laughs at this, a bit taken aback, which makes his crechemates (and Quinlan) feel a bit more comfortable joining in.
There were very few good things shown here so far, but Obi-Wan struggling with a moody teenager, about the same age as himself now, was something they could all laugh at.
Qui-Gon smiled at the boy, pleased to see him calm down a bit. Thinking about the future too much would hurt him, which the boy surely knew, but once you know something, it’s hard to un-know it.
You can’t always stop yourself from thinking… what if?
It took years of self-mastery to understand your place in the galaxy, to understand that knowing things of the future does not give you the power to change anything, but instead requires you to accept the transient nature of yourself and all those around you, to humble yourself and accept the duties the Force has laid out in your path.
Yaddle looked on as the children laughed, remembering her own days as a Padawan, and those of all the Padawans she had trained after. Though many have been dead for several hundred years by now, they live on here—in the hearts and minds of their successor Jedi. In the future that these Padawans bring to the Order.
Obi-Wan is shown fighting a Mandalorian in a rainy environment.
ANAKIN: Obi-Wan is a great mentor. As wise as Master Yoda and as powerful as Master Windu.
As the boy narrates, the two mentioned are shown on screen.
Obi-Wan scrunches up his face, confused. “What?” He asks aloud. He wonders why the boy would say such a thing—Obi-Wan himself, as he exists today, certainly knows the falsity of such a statement.
He had a long ways to go and he knew that. He doubts that he would ever say such a thing about himself, but doesn’t understand how that plays into the situation.
The Jedi around watch the screen skeptically, well-aware of Obi-Wan’s self-sacrificial nature. Though he was never one to shy away from quips or hold back on the sass during or out of so-called "aggressive negotiations,” they doubted that such an exemplary Padawan would fall so far as to teach his own Padawan such things in the future.
And perhaps that was a pointless hope, but they had nothing left to do but trust the boy.
PALPATINE: You are the most gifted Jedi I have ever met. I see you becoming the greatest of all the Jedi.
As Palpatine speaks, Anakin is shown first in an office, then fighting, and finally taking part in what appears to be a marriage ceremony.
Obi-Wan’s face drops. “No way.”
The space is quiet. They can now clearly see the source of such talk earlier: the boy was not a reliable source on anything, much less his Master’s power.
No, especially not power, not with that anger, that disobedience, those words from the man, who many Councilors recognized as Senator Palpatine of Naboo.
Though no one mentioned it aloud at this time, they certainly did not forget this little detail, There simply was no time to discuss, nor enough information to truly come to any definite conclusions. No, it was much better now to watch, to see if their fears were confirmed.
For there to be one Sith Lord, after all, there must also be either a Master or an Apprentice alongside them.
Anakin is shown driving a speeder on what appears to be his home planet, Tatooine.
ANAKIN: I feel lost.
Anakin speaks to the same woman from before, now visibly pregnant.
Padme: Lost? What do you mean?
Qui-Gon felt a pain in his phantom-chest—he had advocated for him to be trained, he had told Obi-Wan to train the boy for him when he died. Doubtlessly, the boy, now a young man, had done the best he could.
But now it’s more clear: Anakin Skywalker was heading on a Dark path, despite the guidance of the Jedi that he had for over a decade. With such obvious disregard of his Knight vows, the rest of the information began to paint a much darker picture.
ANAKIN: I'm not the Jedi I should be.
Anakin is seen kneeling at a grave on Tatooine.
Saesee Tiin watches with a faint disgust. It’s one thing to have a child while a Jedi—they had discovered that Master Braylon had done so and had hidden the child in the creche some years ago, so it was not unheard of, though most just admitted their folly to a Councilor—but it’s another to have an ongoing relationship—a marriage—as a Jedi. To take other vows and put them above the ones that should govern his life.
He hadn’t even taken those vows yet, by the time he was married!
Could he have possibly meant them in the first place, if he was so comfortable breaking them at will?
ANAKIN: I want more. And I know I shouldn't.
A feeling of dread fills those in the space.
The senate building is shown, revealing Palpatine, who walks with Anakin.
ANAKIN: How do you know the ways of the Force?
PALPATINE: My mentor taught me everything about the Force. Even the nature of the dark side.
Everyone is silent once more. This is the moment they had been waiting for since they had seen the Zabrak’s red lightsaber, a sign of his Sith training.
Was it possible that Senator Palpatine was the Master? After all the time that various Council members had already spent with him?
Anakin walks around Palpatine, standing in front of him. They circle one another.
Palpatine: Only through me can you achieve a power greater than any Jedi.
Scenes from a vision are shown, cloudy and without much detail. First, the woman, in pain.
PADME: (GASPING) I can't.
Then, Obi-Wan appears, comforting the woman.
OBI-WAN: Don't give up, Padmé.
PALPATINE: The power to save Padmé.
Yoda shakes his head solemnly and addresses the group of Padawans in the space, “Why we avoid attachments, this is, young Padawans. Not because we fear love, nor because we reject it—we do not. Encourage love, we do, but this,” he gestures toward the projection loosely, “love, this is not. Selfishness, this is. Attachment, this is. With Darkness, he now flirts. Fallen, he could become, if chooses to, he does.”
Dooku scowled at his old Master, but the other Masters surrounding the man nodded along, agreeing with him. Rael Averross noted this, confused. Dooku had never been very clear on his teachings about attachment—specifically, what exactly counted as such.
Rael, he knew now, had been silently struggling with attachment for years. After entering the Jedi Order at the age of five, far older than any other Initiate taken in, he had never quite let go of the memory of his childhood. He had never thought it an issue—in fact, Dooku had praised this as individualistic.
He knew now, after Nim, after Fanry, that this wasn’t true. He had hurt himself when he let his attachment to people rule his life—Qui-Gon had helped him to see that, and to see the light once more.
And looking back, Master Dooku… well, Rael probably should have been taught better by the man. He knew now that he was struggling himself, what with the man’s attempt to recruit him into something two years ago now.
Qui-Gon, meanwhile, remembered Dooku’s issues with attachment very well. Even now, he could see the shadow of it creep up in his old Master’s eye. It was the same look the man had all those years ago, when he would snap and do something he would never regret, but Qui-Gon would see in his sleep for years to come.
Palpatine says this while the vision continues.
ANAKIN: I found a way to save you.
Anakin and a visibly-pregnant Padme speak on a dark balcony, both in their nightclothes.
The assembled Jedi hold their breaths, not knowing what to expect next. Based on the man’s words, he had already made his decision in this maybe-future.
The scene changes—Anakin is now shown in security footage kneeling to a hooded Palpatine, Obi-Wan looking on in shock and pain.
Obi-Wan’s face now reflects a similar, but not quite identical, pain, clear as day. Qui-Gon squeezes his hand again in reassurance, knowing that his young Padawan was likely already brewing up a plethora of ways he could blame himself for the actions this man, his maybe-future-Padawan, would maybe-someday commit.
Feeling this, Obi-Wan startles, remembering again that Qui-Gon was there with him, seated on the almost-floor with him, cross-legged. When he looked over, Qui-Gon smiled, though Obi-Wan could tell by his face that his heart was heavy.
Was this all my fault? He wondered.
YODA: Twisted by the dark side young Skywalker has become.
Anakin marches on the Temple with a group of soldiers at his back.
Gasping again, the spectators feel like they are on the metaphorical edges of their seats, as, of course, they aren’t really sitting on anything, and, in fact, were hovering in some not-space, a constructed reality, made by the Force, urged by a great need of one of their own, however disturbed he may be.
Still, though… it’s remarkable how much the mind can associate feelings with actions, even when their bodies weren’t truly corporeal.
Many members of the Council watched on cooly, a dull thunderous righteous rage building in their minds. The thought that one of their own would march on their own walls and—and what? What would this boy maybe-someday do to them? Demand a surrender? Pillage their Archives or weapons caches?
Or worse?
Yoda and Obi-Wan sit with each other, discussing options.
YODA: The boy you trained, gone he is.
Listening closely, Yoda can hear more weight to his words than he would normally place, even in a situation as perilous and tumultuous as this. There was something he wasn’t saying here, some note of resonance left unsaid…
OBI-WAN: I will not kill Anakin.
Obi-Wan bites his bottom lip and hopes that his maybe-future self will come to his senses—that he will snap out of his sentimentality and do his duty to the Republic, to end this monster that he’s created.
At the same time, though, he looks over to Qui-Gon and thinks to himself, would I really be able to kill my own Master, though? I’ve known this boy for years and he thinks so highly of me. I’ve taught him since he was just a boy…
Will I be able to do it?
And around him, many Jedi applied the situation to themselves, wondering, if it was my Master, or if it was my Padawan, would I really be able to finish it? Could I confront them, cut them down where they stand? Could I fight them and watch their eyes fill with hatred and hear their voices fill with rage?
It was the ideal of the Jedi, of course, to protect the innocent, to stop evil where they found it. But when it was applied in such a real, personal way, each person would have to confront their own inadequacies, their own attachments.
There was a reason they strived to avoid attachments like these, a reason they loved so many but none too strongly, too harshly, too selfishly. The heaviest, harshest request, I am making of him, Yoda thought to himself. Forgive me, will young Kenobi ever be able to?
And in the corner, Knight Rael Averross just thought to himself the same words he had heard whispered around the Temple so many times after Nim died, the constant pity he had seen, there is nothing worse that a Master can do but be forced to kill their own Padawan.
The scene changes to a lava planet [Mustafar], where Anakin ruthlessly attacks Obi-Wan. They clash, lava erupting behind them.
A few of the Padawans jump, startled by the rapid shift in location and the imposing image the dreadful planet made for. Quinlan laid a comforting hand on Bant’s shoulder, calming her.
“Mustafar, that is,” Yoda announced. Mace examined the planet as well, seeing the characteristic lava river, and felt-saw the remnants of shatterpoints bursting in this maybe-future, cutting deeply into the new Sith and his old Jedi Master and leaving bleeding gouges in their skin.
ANAKIN: This is the end for you, my master.
Bolla stared at the man in the projection, not understanding how someone like Obi-Wan had raised a snarling beast like this. The anger he was projecting into the Force, so visceral they could sense it even in a different plane of reality, disconnected from time, was nauseating.
OBI-WAN: I have failed you, Anakin. I have failed you.
Qui-Gon felt his stomach just about fall out of his stomach. Looking first at his Padawan and then at his old Master, he remembered a day when he thought the same things to himself, blaming himself for his Master’s harsh actions, his suffocating ‘love.’
He couldn’t help but feel that he had passed down the worst of him to his Padawan. Even now, he found his first thoughts when examining the memories of his Master’s looming… Darkness, maybe, to be rather self-incriminating.
If he blamed himself for his Master torturing people when he was as young as fourteen years old, how much would his Padawan, so much like him in this respect, blame himself when his own Padawan goes off and…
Finally, after years of suppressing his own thoughts on the matter over fear that he would somehow be besmirching his Master’s good image, he could finally admit to himself the truth: what had happened was no one’s fault except the man who chose to do it.
And the same was true for his Padawan.
He would have to tell him, and soon…
The spectators watched on in an anticipatory silence.
Anakin stands on a piece of ground on a lava river, floating underneath where Obi-Wan stands. Obi-Wan holds his saber out in defense.
OBI-WAN: It's over, Anakin. I have the high ground.
Anakin glowers at him.
Adi Gallia held her hand up to cover her face, rising horror mounting. This level of betrayal was horrific. The determined cruelty, the visceral hatred… and this man had hid among them for years?
How had none of them noticed this?
ANAKIN: You underestimate my power.
Anakin leaps and is cut down by Obi-Wan, who cuts off his legs and an arm.
(ANAKIN SCREAMING)
Obi-Wan stared at the image blankly, his jaw slack. This kind of fighting… he understood now the true responsibility every Jedi carried. To have the power, both physically and legally, to harm people so easily, to have the technology to devastate something so suddenly, it was a state the Jedi existed in every day. That’s why they trained for so many years—and before they even began their apprenticeships, they were raised to value sentient life and avoid needless fighting.
It wasn’t just about helping other people—everyone could help another person. You don’t have to be a Jedi to help those around you. No, the Jedi… their relationship with peace was special.
And this? This was the fight for peace. And it was ugly.
Obi-Wan is close to tears, grieving the loss of a family member. Anakin suffers beneath him.
OBI-WAN: You were the Chosen One! It was said that you would destroy the Sith, not join them!
Obi-Wan walks away from Anakin’s burning body, leaving him there to die.
Qui-Gon hurts for his now-young Padawan, the pain he can see echoed in the eyes of his older maybe-self. He can sense hurt and confusion all around him, coming from all of the Jedi (and one ex-Jedi) in attendance here.
There was a reason one shouldn’t go out of their way to trifle with matters of the future. He could see it now, determination to stop the horrible things that would happen, the things that his maybe-someday Grandpadawan would do, the evils others in the galaxy would commit.
But that kind of determination, no matter how righteous, no matter how selfless… it can consume you. Again, Qui-Gon would know. Very few were naturally composed to understand the world in such a way that can accept the pains that will inevitably happen and become one with the Force, one with its plan.
To try to stop it… that was imbalance. That was a path to the Dark Side.
And yet here they were, those around him walking that tightrope, wobbling over the precipice of Darkness and despair.
He looked over, examining his former Master’s severe face, his lack of composure. Having been consumed by such a thing before, his old Master would be especially at-risk here. No longer a Jedi, he had often rejected any form of help that he saw as ‘oversight.’ How could Qui-Gon help the man without him denying him and giving into his worst inclinations?
Palpatine appears with some of the soldiers from before, finding Anakin barely holding on to life.
Palpatine: He's still alive.
The mentally-constructed space was silent but for the sound of the soldiers marching. Obi-Wan had left the man there to die—perhaps not the most merciful of paths, but almost understandable. Now, though, it smelt of attachment. If he had survived, there was no telling what crimes he would go on to commit later.
Obi-Wan himself felt a deep horror rise within him. He had failed to do his duty—he had failed to strike the final blow. Instead, all he did was condemn the Fallen Jedi to a half-life, angry, hurt, and miserable, a willful puppet in the game of pain that was spreading even now across the galaxy as they knew it…
Palpatine takes him to a rainy planet, where he is marched in with even more soldiers.
OBI-WAN, via voiceover: You were my brother, Anakin.
Oh, Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon thought to himself. What pain the Force has in store for you…
Anakin remembers this as he is being brought in to be operated on. Droids add prosthetics and suit him with a life support suit. His face is covered by an imposing, all-black mask. Palpatine speaks in the background.
PALPATINE: You shall be known as Darth Vader.
What Darkness, Yaddle observed. This future… such desolation, there is. Can we truly stand by and allow this to happen?... Could we even stop it if we tried?
Across the space, Lene Kostana was thinking much the same. For so long, she had been trying to alter or prevent Sifo-Dyas’s visions from coming into fruition. She had spent true decades trying and failing to work around them, and had never once been successful.
That left her with the question: even with so many Jedi working together, could this be avoided, or is it a permanent etching into the walls of time and fate?
She looked over at her now-old former Padawan, a boy she had taken on when he was still so young himself, now a man with gray hair of his own. She had been taking care of him for years now and he had been getting worse and worse, driven insane by the images that tormented him, by his own powerlessness. He lay now crumpled on the not-floor, a measure of distance away from everyone else, who inched away from him as if he would spring up and attack them when they weren’t looking.
She couldn’t help but feel powerless here.
But if she was being honest with herself—and she allowed herself to be so now, even if only for a few meager moments—she had already felt powerless for a long time, indeed. Powerless… and hopeless.
Padme is shown after giving birth, Obi-Wan and a medical droid with her and her twin children.
A sense of foreboding spread throughout the room. What would happen to a child born in such a situation? Firstly, who would care for them—but also, who would they become?
PADMÉ: Obi-Wan? There's good in him.
Padme insists as she breathes heavily. We then hear Vader’s automatic breathing and see him lifted up by a table.
(BREATHING HEAVILY)
Many in the audience couldn’t help but feel apprehensive about this statement. Was there really still good in the man that was once Anakin Skywalker, even after he denounced his morality to take on the skin of a Sith Lord?
Was it even possible?
PALPATINE: Rise.
The scene cuts to another planet, not Coruscant but also not any of the others shown so far.
YODA: Hidden, safe the children must be kept.
Yoda nodded along now, agreeing with the possible-future version of himself. The children would need to be hidden… and would need to be kept in the dark. Knowing the truth of their parents, of their possible potential, it would be too dangerous for a child. Beside him, many of the other spectators nodded along with him.
Padme’s body is seen in the center of a funeral procession, mourners surrounding her.
OBI-WAN: We must take them somewhere where the Sith will not sense their presence.
Obi-Wan is shown, his robes showing damage from the fight he had been in with Darth Vader. Another man is shown with the two of them.
Mace wondered who the man with the two Jedi was, and how he factored into the situation at hand. He certainly must be an ally, if he was trusted with this kind of planning—and that was a good thing.
Mace just wished he knew a bit more about what was happening on the hologram, what could happen in his own future.
He resolutely refused to think about the possibility of his own demise. If he died, then he would go down honoring his Vows, and he would do so happily.
BAIL: My wife and I will take the girl. We've always talked of adopting a baby girl.
One of the babies is shown with the man and his wife, on another planet.
PADMÉ: Leia.
Yarael nodded, understanding the great task the man decided to take on. It was one thing to do something risky, to help save another’s life or plan for something once, but to take on the duty of raising a child… it was a much larger responsibility. Long ago, Yarael had himself been a crechemaster, and had later become an instructor for many of the clan lessons that the Initiates went through. Over the hundreds of years he had lived, he had learned the importance in childrearing, and yet also its difficulty.
Somehow, though, he found himself trusting that the man would take good care of the girl. She certainly looked loved already, held by her adoptive parents like that, in such a way that would never be possible with her biological ones.
Though it was a great tragedy for the girl, family was not a concept so strictly defined as something like blood ties. No, no… he sensed that someday, if this girl did come to exist, and, in fact, exist in such a way as this, she would find family in many places.
Obi-Wan is shown again, contemplative.
OBI-WAN: And what of the boy?
PADMÉ: Luke.
Obi-Wan is seen delivering the other infant to a woman in the desert. The scene flashes back and forth between the discussion and Obi-Wan delivering the baby.
YODA: To Tatooine. To his family send him.
OBI-WAN: I will take the child and watch over him.
YODA, via voiceover: In your solitude… training I have for you. Your old master. How to commune with him I will teach you.
Yoda says this as Obi-Wan walks away from the couple and their child. The hologram cuts to black.
Obi-Wan registers that with great shock. What does Master Yoda mean, to commune with the dead? Isn’t that impossible?
At the same time, Qui-Gon glanced at Yoda, remembering his own research into communicating after death. He had been looking into the topic for quite some time, though he had never broached the topic with the other man before. He wondered if he had in the possible-future or if Yoda had managed to find an alternative way.
The hologram remained buffering, as if it was loading something. It hadn’t shut down completely, still rolling, but it wasn’t playing the next scene yet, if, indeed, there was a new scene.
The members of the Jedi Council gathered near to one another at this supposed break, discussing things in low hushes, trying not to concern the gaggle of Padawans that sat nearby. Meanwhile, the Padawans strained their ears trying to listen in on the conversation the Masters were having, wanting to know more about the situation they had somehow found themselves in.
Lene Kostana broke the non-existent invisible barrier separating everyone from the prone body of Sifo-Dyas, kneeling down onto her creaking knees to check on the man. She remembered doing much the same with him when he was only a boy, but a child himself. He had once been so small…
No one approached Obi-Wan where he sat near his Master, sensing that he wanted some space from prying eyes and questions. He had always been a private person, keen on working on his problems on his own. He didn’t like to bother others when he didn’t need to, many knew. He was a very considerate boy—and he was certainly going through a lot right now.
Qui-Gon reached his other hand across his body, gently removing Obi-Wan’s grip around his hand. After doing so, he placed it on the boy’s shoulder.
“Obi-Wan, there is something on your mind,” Qui-Gon said, trying to take the initiative with the boy. He could tell there was something wrong, and while he would usually try to spare the boy from explaining it to him when he understood, there was just too much that had already gone awry that day. There was too much to be upset or concerned about.
“Yes, Master,” the boy admitted. He still looked so young, in Qui-Gon’s eyes. He was silent for a long moment, gathering his thoughts and his breath. “Master, are you ashamed of me?” He asked at long last, surprising Qui-Gon—though, when reflecting on the question, he supposes he shouldn’t be.
He and his Padawan are far too alike, after all.
“No, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon replied, “I am not ashamed of you. I believe you will one day make a great Jedi Knight, and know that you now are an exemplary Padawan. You have done nothing to bring me shame.”
Obi-Wan shifted, bringing his legs to the front and wrapping his knees around them. He looked even smaller then, reminiscent of the tiny 12-year-old that Qui-Gon had once met. The boy kept his eyes fixed on where his hands crossed.
“Master, I feel as though this future version of myself has failed the teachings you have given me.” Obi-Wan said again. Qui-Gon closed his eyes and breathed in, thinking, processing. He could hear the dull buzz from the nearby Padawans, the whispers from the Masters, Lene Kostana’s murmuring over the unconscious body of her former Padawan. He could hear more than that. The Force swirled around him constantly, especially in such a place as this, where there was no real place. They were in the Force itself, and so he was connected to everything that had ever and everything that will ever happen.
Qui-Gon opened his eyes. “You have not failed me now. I cannot speak on your actions in the future, for even such knowledge as this is incomplete and insufficient. However, I do know you as a person, and the boy—” he paused and corrected himself, “—the man I know is a Jedi through and through. You still have a ways to go, but the core of your self has not changed, and I trust that you will always make the decision that you think is best. Sometimes you will fail and sometimes you will falter, and your path may even change altogether, but who you are does not change. It may grow, but you will always carry the person you are now inside you, for better and for worse.” He grinned. “For the record, though, I think it’s for better.”
Obi-Wan smiled as well, though Qui-Gon could tell that he was not, of course, perfectly assuaged. It could only come with time, though, so he put off the discussion about his own apprenticeship for the time being and told another joke just so his Padawan in front of him would laugh again.
Across the room, Dooku watched on with stormy eyes. He knew that his old Padawan loved the boy, but at the same time… perhaps, if he had just been quicker… perhaps, if he had not gotten trapped behind the ray shields…
Perhaps his Padawan would not have been taken from him.
Yoda observed his own former Padawan, the man not even noticing being observed himself. Yoda had noticed his Padawan’s single-minded attention many times throughout their mentorship. Sometimes it was a good thing and sometimes it was a flaw to be worked through. Now, though, after so much time has passed, after he himself had been a Master and had left the Order… he thought about those old times again, wondering which things were childhood follies and which things deeply personal patterns of behavior.
But that’s not even mentioning the mess they had gotten themselves into this time…
Yoda returned himself to the meeting of Masters, focusing back on the present. Thoughts of his old Padawan would have to wait.